


A Dream & A Wish

by lettalady



Series: WISH [4]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:37:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady





	A Dream & A Wish

 

 

**I** t’s a hard choice facing you. Stay with SHIELD or leave? Leave, and do what? _Stay_ and do what? So far The Powers That Be seem content to allow a former specialist to hide behind a desk, desperate as they are for any and all personnel. Actually, they seem to prefer it – keeping you close – refusing to send you to do even the simplest of tasks. All the better to keep you out of trouble. Sure, that’s the reason.

How many tests passed and still – _still_ the whispers persist. Clint’s influence may have netted you a station aboard the one remaining helicarrier but you have your doubts as to why he even bothered. On good days you chalk it up to a continued faith in you and your abilities. On bad days when you allow your paranoia to win out… You can’t argue against an effective tactic. It’s far easier to keep an eye on those you mistrust when you know exactly where to find them.

On days away from the helicarrier, days meant to allow for a few precious hours of something akin to what one might consider a normal life, you devote your time to research. It’ll look bad if anybody ever bothers to stop by your one bedroom place, maybe even a bit obsessive, but you’ve nowhere else to store all the paperwork. You’re no tech guru and they’ve asked you to stop trying to visit Wallace. Apparently seeing you sets him off –not that your HYDRA-loyal ex-tech would offer you his hacking expertise… _or_ be trusted by TPTB to have access to any form of technology for that matter. It leaves hard copies as your only option, page after page secreted home and sorted into the organized chaos littering your living space.

There’s a subset of your research – pretty much anything Asgardian – that you can claim as a coping mechanism. Yes. It’s just a way to deal with your involvement in the incidents leading up to The Battle of New York – and those thereafter that are only known to… Well… It’ll be the things you’re technically not supposed to know about that’ll be the problem: every detail you uncover about the now destroyed substation that you had guarded for two years, and all the hints as to the wealth of information that had burned along with it so many months ago. It wasn’t just the research into the markings left by the tesseract that Loki had burned when he set that fire. There had been more. So much more. 

Your research, aided by access to SHIELD files, is one of the main reasons you’ve stayed with SHIELD as long as you have. Clint, in one of the rare moments when he reached out in the days following your return to civilization, didn’t much like hearing that you were considering leaving. But then he was too busy with his continued pursuit of the fucking frightening scepter that the Avengers _still_ haven’t managed to recover to dwell on it – or on the toll of your ongoing treatment aboard the helicarrier. At least time has put the pair of you on speaking terms again – as sparse as the moments are.

So yes, there is the temptation to do something else. Private security, perhaps. You certainly have experience dealing with the weird, with the alien, with tech that seems to operate more on magic than machinery and keeps top minds scrambling to keep up – even Stark.

Incentives almost outweigh your hesitance. Working with a new group of people is incredibly appealing. Individuals that have hidden histories of their own and don’t hold yours against you? Then there’s the pay – something both tempting, and… worrying. Even if these firms are paying for expertise, even considering this new world where foes rain down on a city from a rip in the sky, what the hell are they anticipating that you’d have to defend against in order to warrant such a paycheck? It requires a careful vetting of each potential employer.

It isn’t sifting through job opportunities that has you occupied today. A lead has you out in the world versus spending your free time slogging through copies of hastily secured documents. Whatever information possibly gleaned from typically decades old pages can wait. After this last span aboard the helicarrier, feeling utterly useless, you’ve had your fill of squinting at teensy text. You itch for movement, for action… Hopefully this lead will net you something better than the last. Another thing you’ve had enough of recently, dead ends.

Your destination is utilized as offsite storage – insofar as documentation goes— but even knowing that, the lack of security around the building does little to booster your hopes that you won’t come away from this empty handed. What can this collector hope to protect with an outdated motion activated security camera at the gate, coupled with a simple barb-wire-topped chain link fence? It’s easy enough to slip past these basic security measures even without the aid of cloaking tech care of SHIELD and Stark. Maybe you’ll come back, pretend to be a fellow enthusiast? Pretending, an increasingly inaccurate term.

Skirting the sweeping security cameras inside the building is a bit more of a challenge. It makes you smile, despite the fact that each additional security feature increases the chance that you’ll be caught trespassing. It’s an assurance that you’re not wasting your time.

On the off chance that you get caught, there’s little to identify you as a SHIELD agent. These days it’s a toss-up as to how people will react to the organization. As far as your minimal tactical gear goes – your cargo pants, vest, and jacket all chosen for comfort, the soft leather gloves to keep from leaving fingerprints, all darker tones to keep from attracting the eye of the odd passersby – your vest is the only thing bearing the easily identifiable symbol, and you’ve got the logo hidden by your outer jacket. So long as fingerprint or retina scanners remain out of the equation you can always claim it to be an article of clothing purchased for functionality.

You utilize the increasing security measures as a compass to direct you towards the most cherished of the items the collector holds within the building. The final door breached, you pause to take in your surroundings. If your conscience didn’t demand you utilize your acquired skillset elsewhere you might actually give second thought to pursuing a more devious path. Maybe you can find a use for this flair for breaking and entering. A job testing security systems? Now there’s a thought…

Though a few states removed from New York, it isn’t a surprise to find artifacts left over from the Battle of New York mixed in with the other items the collector has stashed in this potentially-museum-like-if-it-were-actually-clean room. The museum-like aspect is something you’ve come to expect from these types – items held beneath glass, alien tech squirreled away by the curious. Odd that there are other things not held within fancy displays – or maybe he just hasn’t gotten the money together to encase all his treasures? At least this guy doesn’t have them stored at home. It means he’s far less likely to wake up one day to find an alien standing over him wanting to know who the fuck has been messing with their stuff.

A cursory inspection of the room doesn’t produce anything referencing interaction with the tesseract. It either means any such information, any such object, never was here to begin with – or that this guy knows exactly what it is that he has in his possession and is acting accordingly. Good for him. Bad for you. It might just be random paperwork about alien artifacts that you gather from this expedition. Again.

The clues that led you here, a path winding and twisted, had been so very full of hearsay that you can’t quite be sure that you’re not wasting your time. You frown, trying to mentally backtrack – it had started with an exchange two or three persons removed before any documentation had appeared. There had been a request for a radio-carbon test on a cutting of stone and a series of restrictions that had to be agreed upon before the stone would be handed over. The outlandish restrictions basically ensured that the encounter would be memorable regardless of the results of the test – indeterminate despite the fact that the material was clearly a well weathered mineral. Scientists are by nature, curious creatures. Tell one they are only allowed the smallest of glimpses and minimal contact? It pretty much ensures they will go to any length to learn as much as they can in the time provided, and secretly document all of it.

Ah small blunders that make the world go round – and had provided you a trail to follow.

During your second pass you catch sight of a disc that you’d missed the first time. It is a bit of metal almost hidden from view by a leather wrapping and several layers of papers. Definitely not what you came here seeking – but the rush you feel discovering it rivals what you feel every time you come across a new something related to the tesseract.

You shove the paperwork aside in order to get a better look at the disc. Is it Asgardian? For whatever reason the symbols seem familiar. You brush the strip of leather out of the way and let your glove-clad fingertips trail over the grooves etched into the metal surface that’s bigger across than your hand. It is definitely alien, you just can’t place exactly how you _know_.

You pick up the disc, the weight of the thing surprising you for something so slender. The edge has a groove – not just an indentation in the metal, but a seam. The disc is more than it appears to be, more than one piece of metal at any rate. Two halves that… do what, exactly? Flipping it from palm to palm you examine the opposite side. At first it seems that the engraved images are the same. A closer inspection proves them to be mirror images of one another.

Even through the layer of leather keeping you from leaving fingerprints you imagine you can feel the chill of the metal. The imagined cold seeping into your palm reminds you of _him_. You catch a flash of green in your peripheral vision, something not unlike the magic _he_ used to start the fire that gutted the substation. You blink, swiveling in place to inspect your surroundings, your heart thumping just a bit faster, his name already on your lips.

_Loki_.

It’s still just you, alone in this room full of alien artifacts, dust, and paperwork. Right. Paperwork. That’s what you’re supposed to be doing. Not looking for _he-who-left-in-such-a-hurry_ … You scowl to yourself. It keeps happening just like that. You’ll catch glimpses of him in reflective surfaces, or just as you round blind corners. His voice will call out to you when you’ve almost fallen asleep and lead you to dreams that leave you panting, furious, and lonesome upon waking.

It’s your dogged pursuit of the tesseract research. You associate the research with him. Yes – _that_ ’ _s_ why you can’t shake him from your memory and – is it just you or can you feel the disc getting colder? You let out an involuntary shudder and squint at the etched metal surface. What the hell is this thing?

The echo of footsteps drawing closer alerts you to the presence of someone else in the building with you. Not _him_ , that’s foolish. He is worlds away, still pretending to be his father, still delighting in the torture of your substation’s ex-medic – if Stuart still draws breath. You’ve played it over and over again in your head, trying to figure out what you could have done differently to prevent Stuart from being taken. No matter what you do, no matter how you mentally try to change the events of your past, the outcome is always the same – Loki always finds a way to steal Stuart away – or, as has happened in more than one imagining, all of you perish in the magicked fire as it consumes the substation.

You blink yourself back into the present, fighting the urge to cough away faux-smoke that through the strength of the memory burns within your lungs. Making noise now would be your undoing. The building’s security personnel never venture through the hallways or into the rooms – which leaves one option. The collector, here to play with his toys.

There are so many other rooms to visit, so many other paths he could take but you’re absolutely sure he’s headed for the very room you’re in. It isn’t paranoia when you’re breaking and entering, it’s just situational awareness. Better to be hypervigilant than caught off-guard, a lesson hard learned.

Thing of it is: your collector _shouldn’t_ be here today. You should have plenty of time to poke around undisturbed. It’ll make coming back posing as an interested party impossible, but at least you can ask him about the research you’re seeking without having to waste more time. Hell, maybe you can turn this into a job interview. _Hey. Your security sucks. Want to hire me to make it better?_

You don’t even bother trying to hide, just stand tall on the far side of the room and wait for the door to open. The man joining you, the collector whose habits you’d studied well enough to know he shouldn’t be here at this hour, doesn’t see you immediately despite his unobstructed view. He seems preoccupied with whatever task that had brought him here. Aiming to be as non-threatening as possible you don’t move, waiting for him to notice you. It’s a good thing you’ve no intention to hurt him, oblivious to his surroundings as he is. It almost gets to the point of being comical. He finally senses you watching him, and then it takes a second more for him to adjust to the realization that someone else is in the room with him. Then comes the most obvious series of half questions he could have sputtered through.

“What do you think – how did you – how do you know about – what are you doing here?”

First things first: trying to calm him before he pisses himself. “It’s alright. I’m not here to hurt you.”

His panicked focus flits around the room, then come back to you, taking in your appearance. “How’d you get in?”

“Same as you. The door.” Alright, sarcasm probably isn’t called for. You take a few quick steps towards him when he moves to put his hand into his pocket. You may not want to hurt him, but you can’t have him calling the authorities on you, either. “Ah. Wait. Hands out. Don’t be difficult.”

Coming closer to him doesn’t seem to settle his nerves, nor does your commanding tone. Its then that he looks to your hands, probably expecting to find a weapon. It’s then that he starts to sputter, pointing towards the disc you’d almost forgotten you were holding. “Oh GODS. Put that down. Put it down, put it down!”

Ok. Even granted this guy’s apparent proclivity to panic, his wide-eyed insistence makes you think that maybe, just maybe, you should listen. “Ok. Ok.” You start towards him, holding the disc out to try to hand it off, but he scrambles backwards. You shake your head and divert back towards the row of tables to your left. “It’s ok. I’m not going to take it from you. I was just looking at it.”

“No, no, no. You don’t _understand_. Put it _down_!”

You try for a patient tone. “I’m putting it down. Look – I’m even wearing gloves. It’s ok.” You’ve gotten close enough to one of the many cluttered tables that you can put the disc down again. Not back amongst the pile of paperwork where you’d picked it up, but at least he’ll stop babbling. You hope. You turn back towards him, giving a slight nod towards the table. “See? Back on the table. Well, a table.”

Focusing on the object itself, the collector draws closer. He closes the distance, snagging a rag in such a state that makes you think the thing has never been washed. “Gloves.” He scoffs at the snug black leather gloves you’re wearing as he readies to throw the rag over the disc. “You think gloves matter?! Do you have any idea – no, obviously you don’t.”

You bristle at his condescension. Shock, it seems, or maybe the thought of losing something from his precious collection, turns this twitchy collector into a bit of an asshole. “I know alien tech when I see it.”

He huffs at you, the action of putting the rag over the disc paused in favor of putting both hands on his hips. “And picked it up anyway.”

“Look…“ You draw out the word, your patience waning. Movement from the tabletop attracts your attention. The disc. The disc is _moving_ – one half is slowly spinning counterclockwise. Is that the top or the bottom that is in motion? Does it matter? As you watch, it picks up speed. “Uuuuuum. Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Glancing back at the collector, you note he’s gone ashen and has scuttled a few steps away again. “I told you to put it down,” he says, still backpedaling.

You switch you attention from him, to the disc, and back again. The hairs on your arms are starting to stand on end. Is this fear stemming from his reaction, or a response to whatever is happening with the disc? Is that an electric crackle you feel in the air? You start to move away from the disc, as well. “Wanna tell me what that thing is? Where did you get it?”

“Stay away!”

He’s close to the door again, and back to being the panicked, twitchy collector. Men. Utterly useless. “Hey! Stop that! Where did you find the disc? What does it do?”

“Fuck you! You broke in! You! When it activates… Fuck you!” He lunges for the door, pulling it open and slamming it shut behind him without another glance back.

You hear the muted tones of a code being punched in. No point running after him. To your surprise a blaring alarm doesn’t follow. You only have a few moments to consider that, though. You’ve more pressing matters to attend to. The room has started to gain shadows where there should be none. The disc, when you turn back to seek it out, is spinning so quickly that the images carved into the metal have become a blur. Oh this is _so_ not good.

Without really meaning to, you take a step forward, towards it. “Curiosity killed the cat…” Deliberately trying to stall your steps, you slowly continue the proverb, “But, satisfaction – brought – it – back…” A lack of motor control is a little concerning when alien tech is involved. Ok, very concerning because you’re _in motion._ You frown in concentration, trying to force your feet and therefore your body into moving in a different direction. No luck. You’re on a collision course with the table containing the disc.

This is what you get for so doggedly chasing down anything to do with the tesseract. Your body has been commandeered by an inanimate object. Fanfuckingtastic. Even furious with yourself as you are you can’t gain control over your body. A few steps and you’ll collide with the table containing the disc.

Next time you’ll be more prepared. Next time you’ll bring a weapon or two in with you, even if your intentions are only to snatch up pieces of paper and root through someone else’s research. Next time… yes, next time… if this damned disc doesn’t vaporize you.

“You could’ve at least told me…!“ Shouting at the collector, long gone, does nothing. You go back to scowling at the whole goddamned situation.

You’ve worked so hard to keep anyone from noticing what you’ve been doing that you forgot the potential downside: no backup. There’s no one to wonder why you haven’t checked in after your brief excursion. Will anyone even bat an eye when you don’t show up for your next shift?

Clint. Clint might. Then again he might think you finally followed through with your desire to start fresh. How many unanswered messages will need to fill your answering machine before a visit to your home to result? Will your neighbors even notice your absence? Most of your bills are automated – it isn’t like there’ll be a stack of accumulated mail to tip anyone off.

No. You are not that invisible. You have connections, even if you feel alienated by your coworkers and choose to ignore your neighbors.

You try one more time to veer off to the right or left. Nope. Then, to your horror, you begin to raise your arm and reach out towards the rapidly moving piece of metal. Yep. You’re going to get vaporized. Nice knowing you, world. You take a breath, moments before your fingers come into contact, and expel the only words that come to mind. “Oh, fuck.”

Eloquence and grace. Always.

-

Your inner ear is giving you hell. You try to roll from your side onto your front, intent on doing something akin to a push up while getting your knees beneath you. The motion sends a rolling wave of nausea through you. Trying to take a breath doesn’t do much good. Your chest feels compressed, and not by the weight of your position on the ground. You gasp, your cheek pressed against the floor, desperate to draw a deeper breath. There’s a strange feel to the air, an almost-taste. Not arid or salty, not heavy as though in a rainforest…  Wholly unfamiliar. You try again to roll, to stand, to do more than lay there and squint through your lashes at the ground. You need to react. You need to be ready. Ready for… for…

Nope. Your brain refuses to do much more than throb and fire off half-commands. The good news is you seem to be in control of your body again. Sort of. You might be able to do something productive once your head stops pounding. You sputter and groan, forcing yourself into doing a pushup. You’re not this weak. _Stand up, Agent. **MOVE**!_

The hands that seize you and pull you roughly to your feet are almost welcome. You might’ve muttered thanks if the temptation to throw up wasn’t so strong. Maybe – maybe throwing up will help you catch your breath. That might be the play. Despite the headache, despite the urge you have to allow gravity to have its way and pull you back to the ground again, you try to take in your surroundings.

Even off kilter as you are, there’s no reason for your inability to recognize anything through the spots marring your vision. Not a single thing. Wherever the hell you are is certainly not wherever the hell you were a few minutes ago. Goddamn why do you feel like someone has their hands around your throat preventing you from getting a decent gulp of air?

The answer, when you glance aside to see just who is so roughly dragging you around as you try to come to your senses, smacks you in the face with brutal force. They’re most definitely not human. Where ever the fuck you are, it’s likely you’re not on Earth anymore. Not by a long shot.

-

SHIELD will come. Someone is looking for you. You cling to that for as long as you can.

For the briefest of moments upon your first arrival, before the reality of your situation sunk in, you’d worried about a communication barrier. Should have known better. The disc had shown them everything they needed. Where you were from. Your experiences with SHIELD and the laughable ‘advanced’ technology of Earth. Your knowledge of the tesseract, of the Avengers. Your experiences with Loki. That’s what seemed to interest them the most.

The torture has been beyond even what your SHIELD training had prepared you for. Makes sense, really – humans only anticipate the horrors that can be inflicted upon other humans _by other humans_. Just how do you explain to these beings that you mean nothing to him? That you know nothing of him? That they’re wasting their time?

Answer: you don’t. Can’t. Your memories, ripped from your mind with brutal force, colored by your own fanciful imaginings, have them convinced. Or maybe they just enjoy playing with the homo sapien – enjoy hearing her screams… Oh, how you scream.

-

There’s nothing to do but stare at the image reflected in the metal and glass before you while you wait. It’s a lot of sitting and waiting, anticipating, trying to steel yourself against what you know to be coming. To your eye there’s nothing special about the woman that stares solemnly back. Your nose, once mended by SHIELD medics so the fracture was unnoticeable, is swollen again. Another fracture similar to the one you’d suffered at the hands – or more appropriately, feet – of Wallace all those months ago? There are no SHIELD medics to attend to you. Not here. Not this time.

SHIELD – the second family to shun you, as had those related to you by blood. To be fair, you’d walked away from SHIELD. You’d grown tired of the constant whispers and mistrust. They may have needed you, needed every last hand, but they’d made it clear they didn’t trust you with anything. Needed you, but didn’t want you – so you left. Just like…

No.

You give your head a shake. No, that wasn’t the way of it. You’d remained with SHIELD. Loyal. You were loyal. _Are_ loyal. The faux-memories of walking away from SHIELD are just that. Fake. Fake and placed there by _them_. Trying to – what? Make you feel more abandoned than you already do? SHIELD isn’t coming for you. You’ve given up on that. Given up on them. Given up on anyone being able to find you – on anyone caring enough to even try. Even –

For a second you see him standing there next to your unsightly reflection on the metal wall. _Loki_ – dressed as he had been the last time you saw him, though his ripped tunic is mended once more and he isn’t coated in a layer of grime, soot, and dust. Loki. You stare at him as long as you’re able, eyes watering from the prolonged effort. When you blink he disappears and you’re left staring at your own reflection once more.

“Thanks for visiting. Asshole.”

It’s not talking to yourself when you see his visage daily. Right?

The first time he speaks, doing something more than standing there, or kneeling beside your huddled form, your heart does a somersault. Despite something deep within you knowing better you still can’t help but cling to the hope that maybe this time it isn’t a hallucination.

“Agent. Stand up.”

It hurts, but you comply. Your tactical gear, all that you had been wearing the day you interacted with the disc, all of it has long since been stripped from you. Probably for the best. The bruises you sport beneath the rough fabric maintaining your modesty run deep. You choke out his name in a sob you try but fail to contain.

Desperate to find the flaw, to spot the shimmer of hallucination before hope too firmly takes hold, you examine his attire. Leather and metal and – he’s wearing his armor. He came expecting a fight. “We must hurry.” He glances back, taking his attention away from the hallway in order to hold out his hand to you.

You reach out, bracing for the hard reality of having your hand waft right through his. Your fingertips collide with something material – the long, cool fingers and sure grip of a man thousands of years your senior.

This is a rescue.

You just might cry. You will cry, once you’re safe. For now you settle for a few words spoken wobbly through an emotionally constricted throat, “Took you long enough.”

He gives your hand a squeeze as he replies, “I know.”

As he steps out into the hallway a shudder runs through him. His grip on your hand lessens and you catch a shimmer to his form. No. No! You move to follow quickly. It was just… It is just the way the security of this place works. He’s here. He’s _here_. You can _feel_ him.

This time when his form shimmers everything around you does as well. Not just shimmers, but lurches.

It’s all a lie. Your brain is fighting back against the implanted experience. Another two steps and your hand collides with the still sealed threshold that stands between you and the hallways beyond. For what it’s worth you’ve discovered you’re still capable of hope of a rescue, as implausible as it may be that anyone out there even knows where to begin to look.

-

You get remarkably good at one-liners, firing one off every time you hallucinate his presence. Inevitably it ends with your brain picking apart the fantasy – always with you here, still held in this place so far from home. Sometimes it is just dreaming, but most of the time it’s another _something_ pushed upon you by those that continue to dig through your brain. At least you can still dream, of rescue – and home.

You never stop getting up when he asks, though sometimes necessity dictates you move slower than others. The surge of hope is never as strong as it was that first time. You do stop calling him by name – he becomes, simply: _Asshole_. The first time you call him that he stops and walks away. Vanishes before your eyes. Even faux-Loki has his limits, you suppose. Thereafter he just scowls at his new moniker.

He still wears his battle gear every time.

Still leaves you. Every time.

The day you follow him out into the hallways beyond your little room you manage a fabulously wounding remark. Again you are graced with a furrowing of his brow, a clear display of his disapproval. Figment that he is, what does it matter if he’s angry? He remains a few paces ahead of you, but that’s for the best. Touching him always initiates the unravelling of the construct.

You’re staring at the broadness of his back, at the intricate pattern adorning the belt slung across his shoulders, when the scent first strikes you. It’s familiar, and therefore out of place. You shorten your steps, feeling your stomach drop and your chest constrict. It’s the smell of home, of Earth. It’s the smell of damp that had permeated the substation where you’d spent two years of your life – and the smell of things never meant to be subjected to extraordinary heat _burning_.

The bastards have dug it out of your memory, melding your escape fantasy with something out of your nightmares. You hunch your form, now aware of a searing heat, the same that had chased you through that underground complex. How far will they take this? Will it be the true memory of the moment – of the narrow escape into below-freezing temperatures, or one of the others? One of your imaginings? Will they push you into believing that you’re being burned alive? You jolt yourself back to reality, back into the little room with metal walls, screaming louder than you have with any of the broken bones you’ve suffered by their hand.

They leave you be for some period of time afterwards – almost as though they are sure they’ve broken you. You dare not hope that they’ve grown tired of the human. What would happen to you then? Considering your treatment since your arrival, probably nothing good.

The day it begins not with a reflection on the wall but with voices echoing to reach your ears, you’re almost too weary to entertain it. You wait for the usual mock dismay concerning your condition as the sounds become more distinct – and for the familiar glimpse of green. Back to the threshold to the room, you’ll force yourself into motion for nothing less. You don’t even put much effort into waiting and watching for his form to appear reflected on the wall, keeping your eyes only half focused on the metal surface.

The blurred reflection is not accented in green, as you expect, but red. Confusion sets in as you register the words being spoken in a timbre lower and by a speaker other than the one you’ve gotten used to hearing.

“Here, Loki. Here!”

They’ve surpassed themselves this time. Thor? Here and helping his brother? You’re supposed to believe that Thor… It isn’t until the second reflection joins the first that you even attempt to roll, even care to turn to face them. _Asshole_. You close your eyes in an effort to focus on moving as carefully as possible. You’re so in disbelief you fully expect there to be empty air when you look to the threshold again.

Bodies still fill the doorway.

They are here, Thor and Loki, moving into the room as you watch. They’re not wearing armor, but dressed for stealth, though with their signature dashes of color in their outfits. The brothers move with a similarity of motion that only comes with years of cohabitation, even down the way they hold their mouths, concern and determination of purpose conveyed in their expressions.

“Agent? Can you move? Can you walk?”

As you push yourself into a sitting position you switch from studying Thor, his long blonde hair loosely secured in a braid, to look at Loki – he who had asked. “About as well as you might imagine, Asshole. I’ve been here long enough.”

Your words bring both of them up short. Seemingly stunned, Loki parts his lips but doesn’t manage a reply before Thor lets out a rolling laugh. “Brother, you should see your face.”

Loki flexes his jaw, an action you know so well, and gathers himself again. He casts an annoyed glance at his brother but continues to grant you most of his focus. “I’ll hear the words _thank you_ from you, yet.”

You recoil as the pair of them draw closer and Loki reaches out to you. You’re not quite ready to let this experience fade, so new as it is. “No. I – I can manage.”

He gives you a short nod. If it wounds him, your unwillingness to take his hand and allow him to help you up, he doesn’t show it in his expression. Perhaps your imaginings of him are so far removed from the truth that the smallest glimmers of emotion you used to be able to read in his face have disappeared. Thor is not so willing to listen and moves closer still, readying himself to catch you if you cannot support your own weight.

You hold your breath as the three of you cross the threshold. Their forms hold – no shimmer or jumping of your surroundings occurs. They’re saving that disappointment for later, apparently.

Loki directs his next comment to his brother though you know it is more for your benefit than Thor’s. “We need to move. Quickly. The path will only remain open for so long.”

“If you had listened to me we—“

“Oh yes, and alert them of our arrival before there’s even time to find her.”

Their muted bickering almost distracts from the way your body protests being forced to move farther than the few paces around the small enclosure you’ve come to call yours. You begin to wonder how long this trick of the mind will last. Will you make it so far as their method of transport before being jolted back to reality again? Will you be granted a cruel taste of freedom before the construct comes crashing down?

You’re slowing them down, you know it, but you can’t bring yourself to move any faster than you already are. Mended breaks notwithstanding, your stride simply doesn’t match theirs. It’s when the three of you pause that you note Loki is not merely leading the way but on guard, prepared with one of his knives to defend against anyone your little trio might encounter. You’ve no idea what most of the interior of this place you’ve been held looks like, other than the few paths you’ve been dragged down, so you can’t use that as a test of reality. What will be the first clue? Where will the unraveling begin?  

For not watching your footing, you trip and lurch to one side. Thor is closer, his arms immediately wrapping around your torso to prevent you from falling completely, but another pair of hands also reach to steady you. Loki’s touch only lasts so long as to ensure you remain firmly within Thor’s protective grasp and then he releases you again. Inwardly, you sigh. Any moment now you’ll begin to notice the shimmering edges of this fucking dream. That’s always the way of it.

You can’t let the pair of them disappear without further interaction. Given that you didn’t just break down upon seeing the brothers, it probably won’t be a tactic used again and you’re not quite ready for the experience to end. “Thor’s being here is – unexpected. Settle the brotherly squabbles? Using this as a bonding experience? Shed some blood, save the girl?”

Thor’s reply is chuckled – the vibrations of the action moving through you, steadied against his barrel of a chest as you are. “Is she always this way?”

“Difficult? Yes.” The slightest of smiles hides beneath the look Loki gives you.

Oh good, he’s enjoying himself. Briefest aside directed to Thor, you hurry to get in as many comments you can to Loki before it’s too late. “It’s why he likes to meddle with my life. Sees it as something of a challenge, or a game, or… Look, Asshole… These guys really have a thing for you, here. You should’ve stayed wherever the hell you were.”

Over your head the brothers look to one another. Something transpires between them wordlessly. Ah, so maybe all issues haven’t been buried quite yet. What had it taken to get Loki to reach out to Thor? Or had it been the other way around?

Irritation obvious, Loki drops his gaze to you. His grip on the handle of the knife in his hand tightens. “My long history with those that dwell here is my concern, as are the events that brought me here. I will go where I please, if I so choose.” He falters, the strength of his glare lessening if only for the blink of an eye. “We have come – in stealth – aiming to get you elsewhere. But if you’d rather remain and delight further in the whims of your hosts…” He flicks his eyes past you and nearly snarls out the words, “You know the way.”

Thor rumbles a single word of disapproval, “Loki!”

An escape that ends with you choosing to return to your cell? Now that’s a new one.

In your lack of reply Loki seems to find an answer. He graces you with a nod. With Thor helping to guide you along the three of you seem to move more quickly towards their destination. Loki doesn’t lead as far ahead as he had before, hanging back to closer match your stride.  

You mutter, mostly to yourself, as you walk between them. “Elsewhere. It’s always about seeing me elsewhere.”

They are words that don’t remain unanswered. Loki quirks his head, just enough to catch your eye. “Exactly.”

The chill you feel, that’s just from exhaustion. The shudder that runs all the way through your toes, that’s just your body protesting this long walk towards the promise of freedom. Faux-promise… but still. Oh how you wish they had stayed out of your daydreams, that they’d somehow missed or misinterpreted the effect of his words – how pleasure can sometimes be as torturous as pain.

Loki’s snarled curse forces you from your internal lamentation. Before you can fully form the question asking what is wrong you see the reason for it – the bustle of movement that coincides with the sound of boot and metal. You are not outnumbered, not yet, but it is a setback on the road to freedom.

“They’ve discovered our skiff.” Thor shifts his stance, moving to stand between you and those that currently hold both his, and Loki’s, attention.

Thor’s gentle manipulation of you makes you feel somewhat like a ragdoll being placed into a particular position.  The flash of thought is actually more accurate than just a momentary frustration – what use are you in a fight in your current condition? In any condition, really. It is something that has occupied your mind more often than you care to admit, how weak you are – a human so severely outmatched, particularly when considered alongside two gods.

You reach out, only hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers come into contact with the material covering Loki’s shoulder blade. This impasse is as good a place as any to cause the construct to dissolve. You’d rather not see him fighting to free you and run the risk of watching him fail. Better to have gotten this far.

Loki stiffens under your touch, his attention forced free of the problem that lies before him. When he turns you purposefully move closer and bury your fingers into the material wrapped around his torso. He has no choice but to reach out – either to pull you to him or push you away.

His form still hasn’t started to lurch or shimmer as he reaches behind you and places one broad hand in the middle of your back in a move that tucks you beneath his arm. He doesn’t look down to return your gaze, but keeps his chin up, his focus directed at his brother. You watch him closely, internally pleading for a few minutes longer and just one meaningful glance from him, just one glimpse of something more to remember him by once this is over. Positioned as you are, you feel every shift in his stance, every inhalation of breath as if it were your own.

“Take her, Thor.”

What? Alarmed, you tighten your grip. He wants to leave you? Or rather, have you leave him? Shock leaves you speechless.

Thor seems just as thrown by Loki’s demand as you but has words, at least, to argue. “No. We will fight them together. Or…”

“Use the Bifrost.” Loki still hasn’t looked down at you, but you feel his hand on your back start to shift lower. He’ll probably be as gentle as possible in pushing you towards Thor, but you won’t make it easy for him. “I will… Someone must stay to keep them occupied.”

“Loki.” You finally allow yourself to speak his name, but still he doesn’t look down. “No!”

“I will not leave you.” Thor’s rumbled protestation is louder. You second that sentiment, if either of them would stop to listen.

A sad smile comes across Loki’s lips. “Do you still not trust me, brother?”

“To come home? To not do something unnecessary, and foolish? I do not.”

There is no breaking through to them, locked as they are in argument. They’ll need to leave off fighting soon, or their voices will betray where the three of you stand. “You promised to help me save her!”

“Save her, not sacrifice yourself. They will kill you if you remain.”

“They will try. There are other ways home.”

“Then use one of them, now!” Thor pushes closer and you sidestep rather than remaining between the two as they argue. Thor grips his brother by the seams of his clothing near his collar and gives him a shake. They part again just as quickly as they had come together. Neither of them are able to contain their agitation. With both in motion it is hard to know who to focus on.  It is Thor’s outburst that calls your attention, and – to your dismay – the attention of others. “Lead us there!”

Loki holds steadfast in the face of his brother’s anger, tilting his head towards the few already zeroing in on the alcove where the three of you stand. “There is no time.”

 “There is always time!”

Again Loki shakes his head, “No. Not for her.”

Before you can do more than tilt your head in question Loki turns, finally turning his attention to you. You’ve been but a prop, scenery until now. Now is it your turn to argue against him? When he steps towards you, you do the same. He moves his arm back around you, his left hand returning to the spot on your back it had previously occupied. He must not hold it against you, your initial hesitation against touching him. He must understand it had nothing to do with being a frost giant – somehow, instinctively, he knew. Right? You press yourself closer, hoping that you can convey everything without words.

“I’m sorry for this…. Forgive me.”

Forgive him? Those are not the words you’re expecting. And then you see his body jerk – not in indication of the dissolving of the mental construct that this time seems so very real. This is a spasm of movement that coincides with a flash of pain both felt and mirrored in the look on his face. Emotion – from him, for you – finally.

“Loki!”

Thor’s roar, though all too close, barely registers. You look down as Loki releases you. Blood. His hand – the knife in his right hand that you’d all but forgotten – is bloody as he withdraws.

This time when Thor speaks he seems distant. “Loki, what have you done?”

Stabbed you. That’s what. You feel … odd. Suddenly unable, once again, to catch your breath on this godforsaken planet. You fumble as you try to apply pressure to the appropriate place, your fingers growing slick.

“Save her.” Loki continues to put space between the pair of you, “You promised me, Thor. Take her home. Save her.”

Hands are on you. Not the right hands. Thor’s hands. Hands that, like yours, don’t remain clean for long. He fights against your own feeble attempts at keeping pressure over the source of the red. So much red. He pushes your hands aside, applying more pressure than is comfortable. He’s still arguing. So very angry. “Save her yourself! Use your magic.”

“I cannot.”

“Look! Look at what you’ve done.” Though Thor bares his teeth at his brother his tone has lost its angry edge.

Loki does – he looks at you once again. Oh if you could do more than struggle to breathe. _Asshole!_ – you’d yell. You’d put your hands around his neck and – if he wasn’t so far away, if you weren’t so tired.

“Thor. Please.”

Before you can sink down to the floor and just _rest_ a moment you’re scooped up off your feet. Thor. Thor is carrying you now. He’ll get all bloody. More bloody. He should put you down. His voice booms in your ears, rattling all the way through you. Thankfully he isn’t yelling. It feels like it, held so close to him, but that’s just... Knowing you shouldn’t give in to the desire to close your eyes you choose to focus on his face. Even at this odd angle you can make out the deep lines of his determined scowl, “I will come back for you.”

“I will see you in Asgard, brother. Go! Now!” You can’t see Loki as he replies. Thor is already in motion. Distantly, you think you hear a final shouted quip. “When I get there, she’d better be breathing!”

You give in to the urge to close your eyes. Even the pretty pretty lights can’t convince you to open them once more. The next thing you’ll see will undoubtedly be your poor excuse for living quarters, returned again to where you had started. Insofar as escape dreams go, this was the first they’d attempted to kill you in the process. A new combination of torture and fantasy? Shame they’re not interested in any of your feedback, beyond hysterical screams. You wonder, briefly, just what would happen if you refused to cooperate – if you refused to engage their next construct. You’ll give that more thought after you sleep.

-

Once again the distant murmur of voices are what pull at your attention. No. No more. You keep your eyes closed and fight against it. You’ll entertain them no longer. Enough.

Thor. Thor’s booming voice is distinct above the others.

No.

Just – no. Not another rescue with them bickering throughout. Try as you might you can’t block it out.

“How is she?”  

You don’t recognize the one that answers him. A woman? “Resting, her wounds tended. They are so fragile.”

No. Is this a continuation of their trick? You hold your eyes closed, trying to force reality back into place. Your tiny quarters. The cold metals walls. The smell – the smell. Though uncomfortable to breathe – you shift your body, becoming aware of bandages that had not been there before – you inhale as deeply as you dare. Once again you are greeted with the scent of something entirely unfamiliar. No – not entirely unfamiliar.  

You flutter your eyes open, frowning slightly. The room is dark, the color of the high ceilings muted for shadows playing across them. Is it just because you’re laying down that the ceiling seems so far away?

“Has she spoken? Asked for – anything?”

He wants questions? You abandon your view of the ceiling, turning your head towards the location you presume them to be standing. Thor is further back in the room than you might have guessed – perhaps the vaulted nature of the chamber helping his voice to carry. The door beyond him has been left ajar. Thor, one you know to be giant in comparison to most, seems dwarfed by the structures surrounding him. “Where – where am I?”

“My home. Asgard. No, do not…”

Thor approaches as you try to sit up. No. He’s right. No sitting up. Your head, among other parts of your body, aches with such force as to make it clear that that is not a wanted action. You frown and try to remember how, exactly, you were laying before. Nothing had been hurting then – nothing you’d been aware of, anyway.

“You need to rest.”

“I’m on – Asgard?” Asgard. You’d dreamed about coming here. Definitely under different circumstances – and with a different someone. You don’t dare ask that question yet. Not yet. You blink, warily. The room does not change. “Asgard…”

“Yes.”

“How did we get here?”

Thor’s expression changes. He’d asked for questions. He’s getting them. “Do you not remember? We traveled here. On the Bifrost.”

You can’t help but allow a small smile. Yes, you do remember that – sort of. “The pretty lights.”

The smile returned to you is both heartwarming and heartbreaking. “Yes. It can be turned towards worlds other than your Midgard.” He pauses, eyes searching your features. He knows what question you’re avoiding asking, or at least thinks he does. “You are safe now. Rest.”

Rest, he says – as though he can command and you will obey. This Asgardian royal, this Avenger, is standing before you telling you that you are safe. Safe? Who is ever safe? Where is anybody ever safe? Failing those questions you have so many more. How did they find you? Where had you been – and for how long? Most important of all: Where is Loki?

So many questions. So many questions, and he tells you to rest. Thor hasn’t moved, not an inch. Yes, you have so many questions but the look in his eyes tells you not to voice any of them. Alright, you’ll sleep. And maybe if he’s still here when you wake, if Asgard is still here – maybe, maybe you’ll find the courage to ask.

Hunger is the next thing to force you awake. Hunger soon forgotten for disbelief. The same ceiling greets you, though the color is no longer muted. Daylight amplifies the golden hue of the expansive room. Asgard. You take your time examining the ceiling, and then the walls, then the décor covering the walls, and – the new fabrics that brush against your skin. You analyze everything, every fresh detail greeting your senses.

Can you trust all that you see, and smell, and feel? You close your eyes, fighting against the surge of emotion – the feeling that you’d almost abandoned. Hope. Joy. They’d done it? _He_ had done it. Found you, rescued you. You’re – you’re – you release a sob and throw your hands over your face, not caring about the tears wetting your fingers or dripping to be absorbed by the sheets beneath you.

You would’ve seen through it by now. You have every other time. None of their constructs had lasted this long. None had been able to withstand such close inspection.

_Safe_.

Once the sobbing subsides your hunger returns. Will someone appear soon to check on you? Thor? The woman you had seen with him? Someone new? You can hear activity from beyond the door – now closed – that seems to be the only way in or out of the room you’re in. Should you wait for someone to come to you, or go exploring? You move slowly, testing your body as you sit up. There are parts of you that protest the movement forcefully enough to make you want to lay back again, but you don’t.

After a few steadying breaths you press your fingers to your side, fluttering your touch as lightly as possible over the ridges formed by the bandages, ridges still easily discerned through your new clothes. Who had dressed you? Who had undressed you? Well – if it had been those trying to bandage you – survival wins over modesty.

You drop your hand from examining your side as the door opens, noises from the flurry of activity outside your room growing louder. What is causing such an uproar? Or – should you say, who? Voices are raised in argument. You strain to hear more than a muddled bunch of shouts and echoes of movement. Is there a fight? Are you in danger?

An unfamiliar man – perhaps a guard – takes a step backwards through the doorway, not so much with the intention of entering as blocking access. Not a guard, you amend your assumption when you notice he doesn’t appear to have a weapon. He is dressed more closely to match the clothing worn by the woman who had been talking to Thor. A medic, then? When was that? During the night last night?

The man standing in the doorway stands rigid. “She’s resting.” He nearly grimaces while saying the words.

Why should that news elicit such a reaction? If someone is trying to bring you food--- You’re about to call out to let him know you’re awake when someone else speaks.

“ _I will see her_.”

Your heart does a flip and you clench some of the flowing fabric of your clothing in your fists. Your would-be guard steps from view again before you can bother to form words, words like: _She will **not** see **him**! _

Loki. He is a sight when he enters the room. Had he been meaning to fight his way out from wherever it was you were, armor would have been a better choice. Even the dark tones of his clothing cannot hide the deep stains – blood, some of which is your own. You twist, struggling as you rush to be standing, not seated.  It is clear that, wherever he came from, he has not paused for even a moment. Looking as though he bathed in blood, he looks – wild. His clothing once again gapes from his body in random places, the result of a fight you did not see.  

At the sight of you, standing and not laying down as he clearly expects, he pauses. It is during this hesitation that someone shuts the door. There will be no interruptions. Your heart, already beating so hard within your chest, stutters in its rhythm.  If you scream, will anyone come? Will anyone hear you over the uproar still heard from the hallways beyond this room and through the now closed door?

Loki uses his full gait to quickly cross the distance between the pair of you, his movements still graceful in their efficiency despite his appearance. “Agent.”

Had he been worried after plunging that long dagger into your body and demanding his brother take you? His tone makes you think so – but you know from experience that the reasons for his actions are not always easily discerned. He’d shown up at the substation to get his hands on the tesseract research that had been housed there – openly admitted it to you. And then burned the place down around you, nearly costing everyone their lives, just to keep it from benefitting others when it became clear he wouldn’t be able to take it for himself. Why had he needed the damned research, anyway? Isn’t the tesseract here, on Asgard? What use is the research when you have the object itself?

“You…you…” You inadvertently take a step towards him, raising your fists to either block his embrace or beat against his chest. “Asshole! You stabbed me!”

Hands still covered in – oh God, more than blood – he snags your arms before you can even fully raise them and uses his grip on your wrists to pull you closer. “Always so difficult. Yes, I did. To save your life.”

You struggle against him, emotion threatening to overwhelm you again. Blinking rapidly you repeat yourself, still absolutely livid with him. “You stabbed me!” Struggling seems to be doing Very Bad Things to your side, but you ignore the pain. What’s a little more after all that you’ve suffered? However long that was.

“Yes. A wound you threaten to reopen. Calm down. You are safe here.”

“How dare you tell me to calm down?! You. Stabbed. Me.”

Your raised voice doesn’t appear to be drawing anyone from the commotion that had been taking place in the hallway – or maybe they had been ordered not to intrude. Loki doesn’t seem bothered, at any rate. For all your efforts you hardly move him from how he has you held. Outclassed – so severely outclassed. “If there had been another way…”

“ _Not_ stabbing me! How the fuck did that become the best option?!”

You don’t notice it at first for all the blood, the blue tinge to his fingers, but of course, you’ve been looking at his face and not his hands. The cold – that certainly attracts your attention. His grip on your wrists changes from merely vice-like to icy. “ _Stop_ , before you hurt yourself further.”

The moment you unclench your fists and emit a short whimper from the aching cold radiating from his hands, he releases you. Taking advantage, you retreat the few steps back to the bed you’d disentangled yourself from and utter the same thing you had the last time you’d experienced that particular talent of his. “Ow.”

Loki remains exactly where he had been, watching you, seemingly wary of reaching out until you reach out to him again. Do you want to? Maybe have another go at trying to hit him again? Or do you want to cave and be wrapped in his arms and ask him where he’s been, and what the hell he was thinking, and just why his presence always means trouble?

“You came for me.” It’s less a question than a softly spoken statement as you try to reign your emotions back in. It’d be easier to catch smoke with a net.

He offers only one word in reply: “Yes.”

You really shouldn’t have struggled quite so hard. You halfway lift your hand to press it against your bandages, consider forgoing the gesture, but opt for completing the motion. If it draws his attention and makes him feel worse about stabbing you, all the better. “Why? You left me, before. Standing alone in a goddamned blizzard.”

Whatever tender glint had been in his eyes disappears in favor of annoyance. He exhales slowly through his nose before he speaks. “It was hardly snowing, and Agent Barton was there. With a jet.”

Yes, because that makes leaving the way he did somehow excusable. A kiss and then… Applying pressure doesn’t help the pain you feel in your side. You do your best to ignore it and keep your chin up. If you keep eye contact, keep him distracted, maybe he won’t notice you’re starting to tremble. “Is Stuart still alive?”

Loki’s lips twitch into a snarl. “He tried to kill you.”

“ _You_ tried to kill me.”

“I –“ He huffs, flicking his eyes towards the spot on your left side where he had plunged the dagger into you, “Let me see.” He doesn’t pause when you shake your head but continues his slow approach. “I didn’t force Thor’s hand only to witness your last heartbeat here, now, in the halls of my home.”

“You should have thought of that before you –“ He bats your hand away before slipping his own through the loose seams offering access beneath your layers of clothing. His gentle application of pressure makes you voice another squeak of pain, but you’ve no way to draw yourself away from him. You’ve backed into seemingly immovable furniture. “—stabbed me, Asshole.”

Loki shifts his hand, the next location where he applies pressure even more unpleasant. You can feel the color draining from your face – not wholly from pain, but also the look he levels at you. “You _will_ stop calling me that, Agent.”

What was it he had said to you before? With Thor standing so close at hand? “I’ll do as I please.” Something like that, at least.

“Hmm.”

You feel his hand shifting higher. For a moment you wonder if he thinks _now_ is a good time to continue his slow seduction. You feel a tug, a minimal application of force, before the sound of ripping fabric. He’s torn your new outfit to better see the bandages that lay beneath. You drop your gaze to follow his fingers as he examines the medics’ handiwork, noting how he pauses over the splotches of red present. 

“Sit. I will summon someone.”

Again with the commands. You remain standing, and not only – not entirely – to be defiant. “It could be from your hands.”

He blinks, turning his hands over to examine them, front and back. It doesn’t appear to faze him as much as you had expected it might, seeing himself covered in blood. “It is dry. Most of it belongs to others.” That causes him to lift his eyes to yours again, though he drags his gaze slowly up your form, pausing for a second on your bandages. “That is not the case, for you.”

As though to make his point, you can feel him pressing his fingers gently over the red splotches. Funny how he’s concerned about your blood being on the wrong side of your body after being the cause for the most grievous of your – oh. _Most_ of it belonging to others? Is he talking about your blood being on his hands – or some of his own? Is he injured? How difficult had it been for him to find that other way out that he had boasted about to Thor? Why couldn’t he have traveled with you and Thor?

He tries again to have you settled on the bed, “Sit, before you faint.”

You’re not that breakable. You’re – ok you’re a bit woozy but that’s from the rush of emotions and the fact that he keeps applying pressure to the spot where he had jabbed a damned dagger between your ribs. “Loki.” His name comes out of you, spoken a bit breathless. After calling him _Asshole_ for so long it feels weird having his name leave your lips. “Why did they…” Keep you? Torture you? You can’t quite finish the question.

He shifts his hand again, still applying an uncomfortable amount of pressure to your bandaged wound while snaking his other arm around your midsection. “I’m sure you have theories.”

He wants you to say your connection to him? Confident bastard. It isn’t just that, though. You swallow, wanting to tell him to not hold you quite so tight, to not press on that spot on your left side quite so hard. “I was – I was – I kept looking for more. I _found_ more.”

“More?”

“The tesseract research and, ah!“ For whatever reason that inhalation of breath hurt worse than the rest. You close your eyes and try to breathe normally, carefully. You shake your head, leaning into him to try to alleviate the discomfort. “I can’t have been the first to have picked up that disc and know a little about alien tech. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe you know more than you think.”

You try to shift your stance. Every time you move he seems to find a new way to hold his hand and make you want to cry out again. Is he _trying_ to get you to pass out just to avoid further conversation? Your defiant shake of your head is stalled only by the shimmer you catch as you open your eyes.

No!

There’s no stopping the sob wrenched from deep within you. You sag further in his arms, “This isn’t real…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, though it does nothing to stop the tears. It seems impossible. You were so sure. You were so careful. You had examined everything so closely – even Loki. As he holds you now – his form feels solid enough, and the fabrics that clothe him… you think you can discern the individual fibers of the material covering his chest.

“Look at me, Agent. Look at me!”

Any moment now he’ll disappear and you’ll find yourself staring at those horrible metal walls once more. You can’t. You can’t face that. They’ve done it. Broken you. All the horrible things you weathered, but this? It is cruel beyond measure. “It’s not real. None of it. Oh God.”

“You’re safe, Agent. I’ve got you. _Look at me_.” He’s holding you tightly, the only reason you haven’t crumpled to your knees on the floor. “Trust your senses. Do I not feel real?”

He doesn’t know how your senses have betrayed you before. He doesn’t know the swelling of hope that had subsequently been swept away as his form had vanished before your eyes.

Though you haven’t opened your eyes yet, he continues, speaking with a forced calm. He finally stops applying pressure to your evidently-not-healed wound, using that hand to seek out yours. He lifts your hand to press it to his chest, his own hand remaining overtop. “Feel the vibrations as I speak? The movement of my chest with every breath? **Look at me**.”

You open your eyes, but the room and his form are blurry through your tears. His apparel, torn and bloody, still greets you. You look first at the back of his hand, still covering your own, then lift your eyes to look up at him. The only thing to assume is that they’re using the figment of him to try to pry information from you. “There’s nothing to know. Please. Enough. No more tricks. There’s nothing – I don’t know anything!”

“This is no trick! We are on Asgard. You are safe from all those that would wish you harm.” His words are no comfort. He’ll fade away soon which makes what he says all the harder to hear. He pulls your hand higher, to his throat, to feel it as he swallows and speaks, “You are stronger than this, Agent. They cannot break you. See me for who I am. Feel me.” He begins to change to his Jotun form, ridges upon blue skin pressing into your palm.

Whatever information they seek, they can have it. They’ve figured out to use your desires instead of your fears. The sooner your brain rights itself the sooner you can start dealing with the loss of this falsely realized dream. “I wanted so badly for this to be… Oh God. When you appear to me tomorrow, in that, in that little room… No. I cannot live this… I cannot lose this over and over.” You close your eyes again, your words devolving into uncontrollable sobs.

Loki’s forced calm is breaking. He jars you in his arms, changing how he’d previously been cradling you in favor of gripping you by the shoulders. For all his efforts he can’t seem to get through to you. “You will never see that place again. Do you understand? Trust your mind.”

“I can’t.”

In a moment, when he releases you and disappears, you’ll be free to melt to the floor. You’ll lay there unmoving, sobbing until someone comes to ask you for the information they seek – or play with your mind once more. You vow to stop closing your eyes to this gift they’ve given. Soak up all that they offer – the deep hue, and marking on his skin, so beautiful even with the sweat and grime upon it. You’ll try to remember the wildness of his hair – greasy tangles snaring your fingers as you shift your hand from his throat and jaw back into the darkness that hangs past his shoulders.

“No? Then trust your heart.”

His lips are on yours. This – they’ve used it all against you, now. Realizing the true potential of even your wildest dreams, they’ve figured out how to break you. Offer freedom. Offer desire, perhaps even love, and then take it away. You release another noise of anguish as he withdraws his lips from yours again, not wanting the moment to be over. His breathing comes as unsteady as your own.

On the edges of the mask he wears, are those tears of sorrow rimming those burning eyes? Pity? Desperation? Anger? You can see so much in those eyes – the eyes that had sought you out and bewitched you on the helicarrier all those years ago. Why? Why are you drawn to him? Why is he drawn to you?

“You are on Asgard, Agent. Here, they cannot touch you. They will wish they never had.” He’s snarling now, even as he embraces you. “You are beyond their reach, though they will find no place that is beyond mine. They will flee before my rage for what they’ve done. And I will destroy any world that would choose to harbor them.”

“No, Loki.” The moment of passion is over, gone in favor of his rage. You loosen your grip for the first time since he came into arm’s reach. He finally allows you to sink down to sit on the bed at your back, kneeling down to remain close, to keep your eyes focused on his.

“No?”

“No.”

Despair over losing this wonderful dream is giving way to something else. Determination. This will not be what breaks you, as you first thought it would. They’ve let it go on too long – shown you the lengths he might go, if your dreams are to be believed. Even imagined, it brings a renewed strength.

Reaching out, you brush your fingers over the cool skin of his cheek, still mesmerized by the control with which he wields his powers. He’d only adopted a partial change into his Jotun form the last time – something meant as a warning, and to remind you that he was more than a man, as though you could ever forget. You flit your attention over his features, looking at the man beneath the warrior-fresh-from-battle exterior. “Whatever the fuck they’re after, if it’s the tesseract or… You have to keep it safe, Loki. You _can’t_ be blinded by madness.”

“Madness? Was it madness that kept me occupied as I sat on the throne? Madness that had me stretch my magic across worlds for even a glimpse of the woman who now calls me false?” He braces himself on the structure you’re seated upon, one arm on either side of you. The maneuver locks you into place before him. “Is it madness that had me call upon my brother and his precious Avengers for any news of you when an indulgent glance found you in a place you couldn’t have – shouldn’t have been?! You cannot tell me no! I am a king! And would wage war with the universe to see you safe.”

Can’t you? Like hell you can’t. “ _No_ , Loki.”

He leans forward, claiming what little space had existed between the pair of you. “Say it again!” He shouts as he gives the structure a hard shake.

“No!” You match his roar with one of your own, shoving him backward – at least trying to, for all the good it does. It hardly makes him teeter on his knees. What little movement you managed is probably only to allow you the smallest feeling of triumph.

While your efforts hardly moved him, it has nearly unseated you and increases the throbbing protestations of your side. Loki lets you sit and gather yourself for a moment before a small smile begins to form on his lips. He isn’t breathing heavily from anger. He’s… laughing. The asshole is _laughing_.

“Do you see, Agent? Do you feel those emotions rolling within you? The mind tricks they played, would they last under such a storm?”

You clench up some of the fabric that has pooled at your waist into a fist and release it from your fingers again. Angry, weary, and confused, you blink at him as you try to process his point. “What?”

He moves closer so your knees are pressed into his torso once more. “This is no trick. You are on Asgard. You can touch me, interact with me,” he tilts his head slightly, pulling your hand back up to press against his collarbone where you had attempted to shove him away, “and I do not fade. This is not magic or mind tricks. I need you to see that.”

“What? Why?” As you watch the deep hue of his skin begins to lighten.

“Because it’ll be far easier to run if you’re not fighting me the entire time.” Loki gives your hand that he positioned over his collarbone a light squeeze before dropping his attention to your bandages once more. “Now. Let me look at your side. Quickly.”

His presumed explanations are only making your head hurt more. You pull your hands away from him again, if only to bat his down when he tries to reach out. “Run? I thought you said we were safe here?!”

“ _You_ are, for Thor’s influence.” Pausing in his attempts to get you to shift the way you’re sitting, Loki shakes his head, “He made me a promise, and I made one to him. But I’d like to avoid spending the rest of my days in a cell.”

You block his reach again, twisting your fingers around his. “What! Why would you agree to something like that?”

Loki tilts his head to the side, “It was a bargain struck to see you freed. Now, hold still so we can leave before Thor makes an appearance.” You finally release his hands. Once more he presses against your bandages, not liking the noises you make in response.  “The healers adapted their techniques. Your struggling didn’t give their work enough time to take effect.” His fingers grip the edge of one of the topmost strips but then he pauses, looking up to make eye contact, “I don’t like working blind, but there is no time to remove these. I must use magic.”

At the mention of the M word you tense, readying yourself to argue with him. Magic. More manipulation of your body and mind. It’s the last thing you want.

He gives another quick shake of his head. Keeping one hand firmly over your side, he grips your shoulder with the other. “It is necessary. If I’m going to take you with me it must be done. Something simple until we are off world. Unless you’d rather stay here – allow Asgardian healers to try their hand, again.” A small frown appears and he begins to shift as though to stand.  “Thor would watch over you. But word will surely spread that I came to see you, of your connection to me.”

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, anchoring him to you. Yes, you’ve dreamt of coming to Asgard but there’s no reason to stay if he’s not here with you. That’s half the damned fantasy. “If you think you’re leaving here without me, you’re crazy.”

Loki narrows his eyes at you but you see the twitch of a smile on his lips as he refocuses on your left side once more. “Later we’re going to have a very long discussion about the proper way to talk to a king.”

“Hmm.” You talk to him the way he deserves. You could always switch back to calling him _Asshole_.

Intent as you are on letting him focus, you need something to distract from whatever he’s currently doing to your side. Magic. It sends a wave of nausea through you. You could just verbalize every question currently cycling through your head but, no, that will only draw more focus on his actions. What method do Asgardians employ for healing, exactly? Does it encompass mending poorly healed broken bones? Your nose – again – and your leg, and… that might explain why you are so sore. Are your numerous bruises from your experience gone? Just what are you going to see the next time you find a mirror?

A different sort of question finally comes to mind. It is something that pinged in your brain the moment he said it but then was abandoned in favor of panic. “What did you mean by stretching your magic across worlds for a glimpse?”

Loki’s fingertips falter before shifting to help you wrap the torn fabric of your clothing up over your shoulder to cover your bandages again. “In the substation, when I admitted to having you watched before, you baulked.” He watches closely as you rise to your feet. The previous aches once again make themselves known but you find the pain more tolerable. He’s still speaking as he leads the way – not towards the door to the room, but towards the opposite corner. “I thought if you heard my voice, or could see that _I_ was the one doing the watching, you might instead draw comfort.”

You pull on his hand, enough that he is forced to slow his pace. He turns his head and arches an eyebrow at you. For a moment you forget to keep your voice low. “All those times before I touched that fucking disc… It was _you_?! I thought I was going _crazy_!” The pair of you will have to have a sit down and compare notes. If he’d been the cause of every one of those dreams… You pause, “And after?”

“I wanted you to know I was coming for you.”

And he couldn’t have simply explained all this while you were being held, while you waited and watched for his reflection to join yours on those damned metals walls? He could have saved you doubting your sanity. “You could have just said so.”

“They were watching.” He’s trying to be patient, trying to explain all that you ask, his mind is clearly elsewhere. For the looming possibility that he’ll end up pacing between four walls for the foreseeable future you don’t really blame him for being in a rush – but these questions need to be voiced.

You search his face, “How do I know what was them, and what was you?”

Loki lifts your hand where your fingers are intertwined with his, “This. Magic and implanted memories cannot fool the brain into believing sustained contact. Close proximity would allow it to last for minutes, at most, before your brain would fight the illusion. I never touched you when I visited via magic. Over that distance my form would have immediately disappeared. Now, save the rest for later. There will be time once we’re off Asgard.” He veers off his path to the corner in favor of a tucked away alcove. After selecting some of the folded up clothing from a shelf housed within the alcove he pauses, giving you a sidelong look and explaining his actions, “Something to hide our features. I’m not sure how many saw you arrive with Thor.”

And he’s a persona non grata on Asgard. He could just as well cast an illusion over the pair of you, just as he had back on the helicarrier the day you met him, but he’s taking into consideration your feelings on the matter. He’d already used his magic, albeit limited and localized, to help you better be able to move. Anything further and, well, being on the run with someone fighting hysterics and second guessing their every step would be counterproductive.

Loki pulls up the hood to his own cloak to hide his face before adjusting yours to meet his satisfaction. After that he guides you towards the corner once more, moving with confident steps right up to and _through_ what you had thought to be solid wall. You focus on the tight grip he has on your hand, on the sound of his footsteps, and yours, echoing off the hallway walls – all the while fighting against the urge to pepper him with more questions. There will be time later. He’d promised.

As though he senses your internal fight, he resumes his low instruction, “We’re headed to the outskirts of the palace. There will be transport there.”

“Transport to where?”

“Our way off world.” Loki pauses, releasing your hand, wrapping his left arm around you to guide you into a position just ahead of him. Evidently having you trail along behind him doesn’t suit. He leans to speak closer to your ear, “We have to pass through a widely used hall. Keep moving forward. There will be another passageway on the far right.”

To say that the room is widely used would be to say that the universe is big. You want to pause and huff at him. Surely there’s a way to your waiting transport that doesn’t involve crossing through a place so heavily used. This is just _asking_ to be caught. The room is bursting with activity – some individuals wearing armor, some not. Nobody seems to take note of the two cloaked figures that emerge from a seam in the wall. More than once you hear his name muttered between those that you pass. It takes all you have not to turn in recognition, and curiosity, in an attempt to spot the speaker.

Loki guidance helps to keep you moving forward, the crowd seeming to part just in time for the pair of you to make your way through without being jostled. Is this some of his magic at work? Luck is not something you have heavy faith in at the moment.  You shudder and feel him step closer, shifting his arm to almost have you nestled close to his torso.

His words come low, barely discernable to you over the other conversations in the room. “Nearly there. We’ll pass through the gate at the end of the passageway. Our transport lies beyond.”

“What, we’re not walking the entire way?” That was your irritation over his choice of routes to take. What you would give to see his face right now, see what his intentions are. Your face may be mostly hidden by the hood of your cloak, but you still tilt your head down to hide your worried frown as you continue, “Gate? Don’t those usually have guards?”

“Why, yes. Usually they do.” Even without looking at him you can hear the effect of the smile he’s hardly bothering to suppress. He means to cause a little more chaos before he leaves Asgard.

Try as you might there’s no way to keep from allowing your exasperation with him to take hold. Just to thumb his nose at Asgard, and at Thor, he’s going out of his damned way… You reach around to find his hand where it rests at your right hip and press your fingertips into the fine bones of the back of his hand. “Is there another way around?” He doesn’t respond, which at this point you take to mean **no**. You wait until the pair of you are safely through the masses, removed from earshot, before you dare turn to face him and say his name. “Damnit, Loki. What are you going to do when we get to the gate?”

He merely lifts his eyebrows for a fraction of a moment in an unspoken response. His words from before echo in your head. He who is willing to destroy worlds to exact vengeance upon those that had taken you. What are a few guards in comparison? You scowl at him, “No killing.”  

“This from the woman who shot me without hesitation the last time we met. Always making things more difficult than needed, my agent.” His face conveys mild annoyance, but also a sparkle amusement at your demand.

Yes, ok. You’d shot him – but with _ICERs_ , meant to incapacitate, not kill – and it’d had little effect on him, besides.

He withdraws his arm from around your torso, utilizing that same hand to grip your chin and lift your gaze to lock onto his. When you try to shake him off he tightens his hold. “If it sees us gone from this place quickly, I will kill any that stand in our way.”

“Quickly?” You try to shift to look back towards the room you just left but he holds your head in place. You are left to cutting your eyes in that direction before returning your glare to lock onto his again. “After parading us through _that_?”

“It is the shortest route.”

“Loki…”

He cuts off your protest. “Disapprove all you like,” his hard glare softens as his gaze drops down to your mouth following your utterance of his name. He reaches up and runs the pad of his thumb over your lower lip. He lifts his eyes to yours again to finish the stern warning, “but do not interfere.”

There are two of them blocking your path – guards that Loki would rather kill than incapacitate. You’ve little option but to stand where he motions for you to wait. You could ignore his command not to interfere, risk whatever might result. If it meant he ended up locked up somewhere … would he ever forgive you for that? He’d probably hate you for the rest of his life. No, no – he’d hate you for the rest of _yours_.

Your options are limited, then. Limited – but not non-existent. You grab a handful of his cloak before he can move beyond your reach. “Loki, wait. There’s another way.” He’s ready for more argument from you, giving you another impatient scowl. You swallow, hoping he can see just how much this option unsettles you, “You wouldn’t have to kill anyone, would you, if they believed they were being relieved of their station? They do that here, right? Rotate shifts?”

Loki studies you for a moment, his tone carrying just a hint of surprise. “You want me to cast an illusion.”

You wince. No, you really don’t, but it’s the only option you can see where he doesn’t kill these two guards who are simply doing their job. Releasing your grip you motion to his torn and soaking clothes, mostly hidden, “Aren’t you covered in enough blood?”

“It would be easier to kill them and be done with it.”

Easier unless someone happened to stumble upon the scene. A shudder runs through you. You’ve heard such sentiments before – back in the substation before things went completely bonkers -- before Loki set the fire, before your reality had been stripped away, before you’d realized that both the men you’d been stationed with for two fucking years were traitors. “Easier? What makes killing the easier option? You sound just like Wallace.”

“Hmm, how is our HYDRA-loyal friend?” Loki’s small smirk has reappeared. He seems to be enjoying this, arguing with you rather than acting on his threats against the two guards. At least he hasn’t abandoned the conversation and stalked off to kill them, yet.

Bringing up Wallace wasn’t something you meant to do. It does serve its purpose as a delaying tactic, though. Wallace is still suffering from whatever it was Loki had done to him – those action taken because he had witnessed part of a fight between the substation’s HYDRA-loyal ex-tech and you. You huff out a breath mingled with frustration and guilt, “I wouldn’t know. I’m not allowed to visit anymore. My point is that you have a choice.”  

“This is why they gave up on recruiting you, you know. Your unwillingness to bend to their line of thinking.”

You nod, remembering all-too-well the feeling of being stalked within the walls of your own damned substation. “Right. And decided to try to kill me. Just – go ahead and do it.” You hurry to clarify, “The magic. Cast the illusion.”

Loki’s smile grows as he looks down at you. “I already have.”

Casting a critical eye over him you arch an eyebrow, “I still see the same _asshole_ that stabbed _—_ “

His smile breaks into annoyance and he cuts you off, snagging your upper arm through the heavy fabric covering you. With careful control he walks the pair of you towards the pair of guards, speaking to you through clenched teeth. “You _will_ stop calling me that. And what _they_ see is what matters.”

A short exchange, a few quick words uttered by the silver tongued man you’ve come to know, and the guards leave their post. And he’d claimed that killing them would be easier? It’s tempting to gloat. You choose, instead, to try to be useful – if you can. The controls for the gate are in Asgardian. You’ve done so much research, surely you can find something that you can understand. Loki waves you away, the gate opening with a few deft strokes upon the console. It’s clear he’s done this before – passed this way to escape prying eyes. Another question to add to the many that have compiled.

Loki steps with you through the gate, pausing to eye the choices before motioning to one that sits centered before the ajar gate doors. “That one. I’ll join you in a moment.”

You hesitate rather than listening to him. Boarding a ship without him by your side? Who knows what might happen. He wouldn’t send you away, not now. How far ahead has he planned this? Nevermind that with your luck you’d touch something and inadvertently trigger an alarm to let everyone on Asgard know where the pair of you are. Your experience with that fucking disc has left you wary. 

“Board. Sit.”

When you turn to seek him out you note the gates are starting to swing closed again. You flick an annoyed expression at Loki, waiting until he presses his hand flat between your shoulder blades before you start moving. “Stop ordering me around. I was waiting for you.”

He exhales, reaching out to make contact with the slow moving golden doors and to press something unseen while he urges you forward. “With your injuries I’d rather you be settled. Not standing.”

Right. The injuries that you’ve practically forgotten for benefit of Loki’s magic and the rush of the moment. Asgard. You’re on Asgard, with Loki. Leaving with him, technically, but with him all the same… It is a shame the pair of you can’t roam for a bit. What you wouldn’t give to have him show you around – listen to him relay stories to you about his adventures growing up here. Did he have a favorite spot to visit outside the palace walls?

A noise from behind you ruins the potential of the moment. Loki doesn’t seem phased by the fact that someone is apparently trying to follow the pair of you. Had his ruse with the guards not worked as well as you’d hoped? He’ll never let you hear the end of it, if so. He guides you onto the ship he had indicated without so much as a glance behind him. “I barred it with my magic. They won’t get through until well after we’re gone.”

Why aren’t you comforted by his assurances, even if he doesn’t appear bothered? You keep your focus on the gate. There – another loud noise from the other side, and at the same time a spark or two seems to fly from the seam between the two doors. You reach up and pull the hood of your cloak from your head to better be able to see your surroundings. “Loki…”

He glances from you to the gates before directing his attention back to the console, “If I said please, would you listen and sit?”

His quip makes you smile, even if the answer is: no, probably not. This time immediately following the noise at the gates there is a groan and the doors open a few inches. Someone is determined to make it through before the ship is able to launch.

“Loki! Stop!”

Thor. Now you know the reason for the noise – he’s been trying to force his way through the gates. Thor’s shouted command makes your heart flutter, but a glance is all that Loki offers Thor. He doesn’t pause in his actions, just nods again towards where he wants you planted and returns to the sequence he’s been entering on the console. Coordinates, maybe?

Thor continues to try to pry the doors open further. He’s gotten it nearly wide enough to thread his arm through the gap. Is he using Mjolnir – or just brute strength? His next words make your stomach drop. Maybe you should listen to Loki and sit. “Loki. Her agency wants to speak with her. There are answers we all need.”

“You would hand her over, Thor?”

“I would see her home.”

“That was not part of our agreement.”

“Neither was this.”

Loki turns to you, taking a step to be able to draw you into his arms. It’s an action that is entirely too familiar. His motions almost exactly follows those etched into your memory, the moments in the subarctic leading up to his disappearance outside the doors of the burning substation. His tone, though soft when he speaks to you, strengthens your internal panic. “Give me a moment.”

He means to face off with Thor? Is that why it was so important to enter all that information into the console? “Wait…” You try to stop him but he has already stepped beyond reach, dismounting from the ship before you can finish your sentence.

Loki, lover of words, can’t resist one last jab at his brother. “Are you really not surprised? What did you imagine? That I would be content to once again pace that chamber?”

Thor continues to try to push the two doors further apart. Loki’s magic seems to be holding, for now. Though straining against the gate doors, the exertion doesn’t stop Thor from replying. “For what you did to our Father?”

“ **Your** father,” Loki is quick to correct him, “and he merely slept.” He stands well enough beyond the doors to show how he has won – that he is beyond his brother’s reach.

“He will never be the same.”

Loki lets loose a little chuckle. “Honestly, you should count that as a blessing.”

Thor shakes his head, pausing in heaving his weight against the structure. He mutters ruefully, his words almost lost to your ears, “You are more like father than you know, Loki. You both have purpose to every action.” That last bit seemed louder. Louder and meant, perhaps, more for you?

Loki takes a slow step forward. Apparently he’s going to get as close as he dares, almost within arm’s reach of the gates. “Hmm. Perhaps you’re right, brother.” Watching Loki’s back, you can’t tell his expressions. Is he taunting Thor? Is this thoughtful rumination of his brother’s point? He shifts his shoulders, the action causing his hood to fall back from his head. Now, at least, you can see the movements of his jaw as he speaks.

You can just see Thor over Loki’s shoulder, the two are standing so close together now. His words sound raw, matching the heartbroken and angry expression on his face. “So you do claim me? Claim family.”

“When convenient.” Loki’s right hand twitches and the doors shudder, giving a brief moment for the pair of them to stare each other down. Thor recoils as though jolted backward and then the gate slams shut again. A wide grin is still plastered on Loki’s face as he turns his back on the doors concealing the angry blonde Asgardian.


End file.
